Deep End

by Ali Hazelwood

“Right. Well, I prefer the stripper stuff.” “You prefer the stripper stuff,” he repeats, toneless. My eyebrow quirks. “Are you surprised?” He puffs out a small laugh,

because he returns to pick me up, his palm firm under my ass, my legs wrapped around his waist. He’s a wonderful means of transportation—safe, timely, comfortable. I want a yearly pass.

“So when Carissa sent those pics, I told myself that I didn’t care, but the way he looked at you…I don’t think he’s ever wanted anything or anyone the way he wants you. And that hurt, because I was with him for years.

“I can’t sleep unless I know where you are.” His shrug is delighted. Unapologetic. “And during the day…I just feel better keeping tabs. Control, you know?”

“Listen to me. The last few years, I did everything I could to be happy with someone else, and did not manage.” His hand slides down my arm, slowly. Long fingers twine with mine. “And then I spent the last few months trying not to fall for you, and failed so fucking miserably that—” He shakes his head. “This is it. I’m not going to pretend otherwise. No

“You should come whether you qualify or not.” His hand slides up my back. “I don’t think I want to let you out of my sight again this summer.”

He used to want to prove to himself that he could thrive, even without her. He has given up on that. Now he just wants her.